


Cinderella

by Not_You



Category: Watchmen (Comic), Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Childhood Sweethearts, F/M, Female Ejaculation, Fluff and Angst, Hand Jobs, Light Bondage, Oral Sex, Panic, Rule 63, Short Chapters, Slow Burn, Wedding Night, Weddings, walter has lots and lots of issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 08:03:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 18,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6147103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Walter Kovacs rescues Adrienne Veidt when they're both kids.  She decides that he is total marriage material, and comes back when she's an adult to see if they can actually make it work.  (They can, I'm a sap.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm bringing the sections directly over, so they will be short and of weird, varying lengths.

Pretty little bitch has seen what she shouldn't, and since little pitchers have big ears and bigger goddamn mouths they're gonna have throw her in the river alongside Joey the Squealer, as he shall be posthumously known. If they can catch her. She hasn't sprouted yet, eleven at the oldest, and she's still fast, no tits or ass to slow her down. Her skirt is full and short, too, so it's not tangling her up. Still, its clean, cheerful pink stands out against her dingy surroundings as much as her bright blonde hair, making it impossible to lose her altogether.

Adi has already been chastising herself severely for getting this lost at her age, but now her heart is about to leap out of her mouth in terror. It hurts to breathe, but her legs just keep flashing, blurred with speed. Her feet are barely touching the ground, and she leaps over and around obstacles with the frantic grace of a hunted cat. She's going to die here. Really, being a pretty female child, she'll be lucky not to get raped by someone before the concrete overshoes go on. It really doesn't seem fair, since she doesn't know what it's like the right way. A runner's high sets in, leaving her mind free and delirious to contemplate the possibility of an afterlife as her feet search for an escape route without consulting anything higher. They don't need to, since they're very clever, and carry her to an alley that leads directly to a main street. If she can just make it through she'll be surrounded by witnesses.

He catches her by the end of her long hair about thirty feet from safety, yanking her back and clamping a hand over her mouth, lifting her off the ground. She struggles so wildly he almost loses his grip, biting him viciously as he drags her back, kicking and screaming. Walter sees it all happen where he's crouched by the trashcans. It's a nasty place to hide, but it means no one will look for him. His mom is too angry for him to go back home yet, and he wonders if this is what it's like for her, if everything just goes red. The girl is clean and neat and obviously doesn't belong here, and no kid belongs in this guy's clutches.

He's a scrawny little runt, but he pops up out of nowhere like the wrath of god. There's no way to prepare, not hanging on to Princess Buzzsaw over here. A lead pipe hits the side of his knee with an audible crunch, and he drops the girl, keeling over onto the filthy alley floor.


	2. Chapter 2

Walter would never dare touch this girl normally. Of course, normally she'd be herded across the street by a loving guardian of some kind as soon as Walter's filthy, ragged presence became noticeable. As he gets older, he's beginning to think that it's something in his eyes, too. He knows he's not really backwards, but he catches himself in a shop window or his mom's mirror sometimes and sees the staring eyes of an animal. Still, desperate times, desperate measures. He's heard that somewhere and likes it, because as far as he's seen in nine and a half years on earth, there's no such thing as a time that's not desperate. So he grabs the girl's white hand in his own grubby paw and yanks her away, running out to the sidewalk and down it, jostled and pushed by unseeing adults, nearly knocking over a push cart and outrunning the owner's Polish curses.

Adi has a stitch in her side by the time they finally stop, slumping onto the steps of a dilapidated church. Everything here looks worn out, even the sunlight. But they're well away, and there's enough traffic on the street to keep anything too horrible from happening to them. She laces her hands together over her head to open up her chest and let her catch her breath. All she knows about her undersized knight is that he's got the traditional ginger temperament and that her mother wouldn't want her to speak to him.

"Thanks." She pants. He looks at her the way stray cats do, and her heart breaks a little.

"Welcome." He croaks. He shuffles, looking deeply uncomfortable in his uneven haircut and charity clothes, and Adi suddenly finds herself shivering, faced with the reality of what has just happened. She sits down on the steps and she's not going to cry, but she remembers his eyes. The man they dumped in the river while she didn't do anything about it because she couldn't, and she bursts into tears. She jumps a little at a soft, light weight, and realizes that he's put his threadbare, filthy coat around her shoulders. He's barely got anything under it, just a dingy thing that looks like a boy's undershirt until she looks a little more closely and sees a tiny bow at the yellowing neckline. It's meant for a girl, and she's wearing the only defense her savior's dignity has.

"Thank you." She says again, her voice softer than she's used to. "What's your name?"

"Walter." He says, sitting down beside her, a cautious distance still between them.

"Walter what?"

"Walter Kovacs." He mutters. "Are you hurt?"

"No. I'm Adrienne Veidt." She adds belatedly, offering him her hand. He blinks in surprise and then takes it he's afraid he'll break it.

"Pleased to... Pleased to be able to help."

"I'll need a little more, I'm afraid." She says, with an unconscious imitation of her mother's company smile. Walter just nods, like a knight accepting a quest.

"Okay. Lost?"

"Very." She pauses. "And hungry. You?"

He shakes his head, flushing as red as his hair when his stomach growls and makes him a liar. He hasn't eaten since breakfast, the not-moldy half of the last slice of bread with all the peanut butter he could scrape out of the jar. Adrienne. The name sings in his mind and he knows he'll be saying it to himself tonight, letting the dainty sounds roll into his filthy pillowcase. For now, her smile strikes him mute, and he lets her take his hand and lead him to a vendor they haven't pissed off. He doesn't have a cent to offer, and reddens again as she buys them both lunch.


	3. Chapter 3

Mrs. Veidt is a distracting presence at the station. Sleek, blonde, and improbably gorgeous, she sits there with her face buried in a lace-edged handkerchief, silent and inconsolable. Hopkins has to admit it looks pretty hopeless, but you never say that around the parents and it hasn't been that long. He wouldn't be half this worried if the kid hadn't gone missing right by the mythical Tracks that divide Right from Wrong. A fashionable shopping district right by a gutted out slum full of mobsters. Your little girl steps through that crack in reality, who knows what'll happen to her? The father's on the way, and God knows Hopkins isn't looking forward to that.

"Please, Mrs. Veidt. We have nearly everyone looking for her, and you said she's a smart girl, didn't you? She'll probably find us."

She looks up and smiles, all tearstained and gracious. "Thank you, Officer."

Walter does not like the Police Station. He thinks it might be good to be a policeman when he grows up, but that he'd better be far from his mother, and far from this neighborhood station where they know him for what and whose he is. Still, he's on a mission. A very important one, so he just squares his shoulders in his girl's undershirt and mismatched shoes, and shepards Adrienne up the steps. It's been a long walk, and she's tired, especially after all the running and terror earlier, so she leans on him like much younger child. He worries that her hair will get dirty from the sweat on his shoulder, but she won't let go of his jacket and he'd rather die than grab it back. He swallows, and opens the big glass door, the edge of one hand on the small of Adrienne's back to guide her inside. He's heard somewhere that that's the right way if you don't want to wrinkle a lady's clothes, and it seems to work.

She yawns cavernously, and smiles at him as he leads her to the front desk, his palms starting to sweat. She can tell he doesn't know how to do this, that he's one of those kids who can't talk with adults looking at him, and forces herself a little more awake. "Excuse me." She says, and the man at the desk looks up. "I'm Adrienne Veidt, my mother is looking for me."

He throws his head back and laughs. "She's just about distracted, but I think--"

They never hear what he thinks, because her mother comes running out, dropping to her knees and pulling Adrienne into her arms, crying. They're a matched set, both so clean and beautiful that Walter has to edge away. He can't leave, he can't go home without his jacket or his mother will murder him. Maybe for real, and he doesn't want to leave Adrienne anyway. He'll have to, they don't even belong to the same universe, but he'll put it off for as long as he can. Mrs. Veidt finally looks up as her husband comes in, and Walter's skin crawls as they thank him, tenderly unwrapping his rag of a jacket from around her shoulders. He almost escapes then, but Adrienne tells them about what happened, and they both have to stay to answer questions. Walter tells them not to bother calling his mother. With any luck she'll never know about this.


	4. Chapter 4

"Walter," she says much later, the two of them left alone for a moment on a hard bench, his filthy coat between them, "I've decided something." He blinks, looking up from the cup of cocoa they've given him. It's too hot for cocoa, and Adrienne's is cooling almost untouched beside her, but Walter has been savoring the too-sweet, cheap flavor. "We should get married when we grow up."

His mouth flaps for a moment before he can speak. "I won't-- I can't-- You won't want to when we're grown up."

"Oh?"

He shrugs, staring down at his hands. "Girls like you don't marry boys like me. It just doesn't happen."

Adi snorts, rolling her eyes. "So what if you're poor? I'm not, and I won't be. You've been a real gentleman when no one has bothered to teach you, you've already fought for me at risk of your own life, and I like you. So we're getting married."

"...When?"

"Hm. I want time to finish college and to travel... When we're twenty-six, okay?"

"Okay."

She cups his face in her hands, and he looks at her like a landed trout as she presses a soft kiss to his mouth, to seal the deal. Walter makes a muffled squeaking noise, going so red she's a little worried. He looks like he might explode, and doesn't get a chance to say anything, because her parents are there again. Walter runs out at soon as he's free to go, practically flying down the street. Adrienne watches him go, knowing she'll see him again.

She's thinking of him when she sets off at seventeen, free and hollow and unmoored, and she's thinking of when she comes back, settling into the round of galas and benefits and events. She gets a lot of proposals during this period, from men she's met and men she hasn't, but none of them reaches the required standard. Of course, being older now, she's not sure how the sex would be with Walter or what's he's grown up to look like, but she certainly intends to find out.

Walter thinks about her sometimes. Catches glimpses of her in glossy magazines and smiles to think about their childish engagement. Everything links her to a certain A-list actor now, and it looks like there really is something to it. They look good together, a matched set in flawless white and gold. Walter tries not to hate him, flipping through a scavenged celebrity magazine and trying to glean his suitability from interviews. Even if it makes his stomach hurt a little, he's better than that worthless singer. Gives some of his millions to starving children, probably won't cheat on her with some whore in a bathroom in Belgium.

Poor Johnathan. They'll have to break up soon, and he'll have to hunt up another beard. He's been very understanding about it, even if he's told her time and time again that the world does not work that way, that he'll be unrecognizable, some kind of asshole instead of the tiny knight she remembers. Adrienne supposes it's funny that she believes more strongly in magic at twenty-six than she did at ten, and smiles to herself as she loiters outside the sweatshop where her intended has ended up, waiting for quitting time.


	5. Chapter 5

He's sure he's hallucinating. He took his salt tablets with everyone else, though, and usually keeps his head no matter how bad the heat is. But really, there's no other explanation for Adrienne Veidt leaning on a lampost and smiling at him, in full color and a pair of faded bluejeans. Still, she's there after he looks for another few seconds, and she's there when he blinks, so he walks over to her, still overwhelmed by a feeling of unreality. He can feel the ghost of a kiss seventeen years gone, and wonders if he's going to disgrace himself by simply passing out at her feet.

Of course he's red. Already pink from the sweltering day, he's matching his hair again at the sight of her, and Adi does her best not to laugh. "Hello, Walter."

"Adrienne." He croaks, blinking at her. She's done her best to be normal about this, to not just snatch him up in a limo like Prince Charming. Jeans and a men's dress shirt, Roman sandals she can actually walk in. Of course, her clothes aren't sticking to her with a shift's worth of sweat, but Walter's are, and she feels a sharp and unexpected frisson of lust at the sight. Here he is, the winner of an undeclared wet t-shirt contest, shivering in the heat. She reminds herself that he's almost certainly a virgin and to keep her bestial urges in check. He's not at all handsome, and that really, really doesn't matter. "Why--?"

"We have an appointment." She takes his arm. "But I won't stop you if there's anywhere you need to be."

And there is. There really is, he needs to go straight home, throw some cold water over himself, cram something that can pass for food down his throat, catch up on the news, and then become Rorschach. There's a lot he should be doing, but he just blinks and shakes his head, letting Adrienne lead him. She's so like and unlike ten thousand photographs and the little girl he remembers. Lovely like her mother, but smaller, built more like a gymnast. She's his height exactly, and the feeling is surreal, since they were at eye-level when they met and that seems like it should have changed in the intervening years.

"Anyway," she says, "I'm not going to march you down the aisle without buying you dinner first. I fully accept that we might be incompatible after all this time, but still."

"Can't-- Can't go anywhere like this." He gestures at himself, and she waves a hand. "You can borrow some of mine." He sputters hopelessly, and she just flags down a cab and tells him it'll make them even for the loan of his coat. He calms down a little on the ride over, and proves himself able to talk about fashion, which is interesting even if the poor thing has grown up to be a hopeless prude, only to tense up again when they arrive. A penthouse is a bit outside his universe, and Adi is gentle with him as she leads him into the elevator. He jumps a little when she takes his hand, but doesn't pull away, and she squeezes gently.

He really feels like he shouldn't be here. This palatial purple place has nothing to do with him, clean and smelling faintly of jasmine, and he keeps his hands close to avoid messing anything up. Adrienne just smiles, and gestures to the bathroom. "Go shower and I'll find something for you." There's nothing he can possibly say, so he just obeys, closing the door behind himself and trying to stop blushing before he starts to sweat blood. The sudden intimacy of being here nearly kills him, and he steps immediately into the shower and turns it on, deluged in warmth that's actually pleasant in a place with air-conditioning. He sighs, and scrubs himself mercilessly, as businesslike as possible, trying not to look around and be struck senseless by ordinary miracles like lavender-scented shampoo.


	6. Chapter 6

Wearing her clothes is like wearing her skin, even if they are an old pair of jeans and a plain black t-shirt, both actually cut for a man because she had to pretend to be one when she traveled. It makes him angry to think of her out there, beauty hidden because people can't be trusted to keep their greasy paws off of it. Like the Mona Lisa behind her velvet rope. Her smile is as enigmatic, but broader as she looks at him. "Wonderful, they fit."

"Thank you." He mutters, and jolts a little when she touches his arm.

"To dinner, then? It's a sushi bar, but don't worry, you can get things that are actually cooked."

He can't help but be filled with trepidation, but he's helpless to anything but follow, glancing sharply at the kind of little details the subconscious never remembers to put in. Despite the unreality, he has to admit he's not dreaming. Besides, if this was a dream they'd be fucking like beasts or she'd be pulling his heart from his chest, or taking off her face to reveal a starry void. Walter has never liked his dreams, and shivers a little in the heat, trying not to clutch Adrienne's hand and failing as she leads the way into another cab. He can feel his ears burning because his current net worth is $30.79, and Adrienne seems to see the numerals in the air over his head.

"Darling," she says very softly, "I know you're broke. I spent a good portion of my formative years in drag, you can be the lady as far as money is concerned."

"Hurm. I think I combine the worst of both worlds: dependent without being pretty."

"You have an interesting face." She says. "I could look at it for ages and not be bored with it, and isn't that better than beauty?"

He studies her, head tilted to one side. "No," he says softly, "it isn't." It's Adrienne's turn to blush, feeling a bit ridiculous, but better than she has in a long time.

"You know, Walter, I think we're going to get along just fine." He just smiles ruefully, like she'll eventually get tired of this and leave him where she found him. She doesn't waste time correcting him, paying the driver and leading her way into their destination. It's a hole in the wall, but the staff and the product are both quality. It turns out Walter doesn't drink, so she sips a small Sapporo while he has a Coke and peruses the menu. When she won't let him just get a side of rice (the cheapest thing on the menu) it seems to set him back a bit, but he finally settles on a bowl of noodles, paying rapt attention to Adrienne's lessons in chopstick use.

Walter's previous exposure to foreign food has been limited to cheap Chinese and Italian, both of which come with forks, so he pays close attention as Adrienne shows him how to use the sticks. Their economy of form fascinates him almost as much as his companion's beautiful hand. She has the only kind of manicure he can stand, short, with the white rims and pink beds. Just an exaggeration of the color nails are anyway, nothing like blood or rot. When the food arrives he can't stop watching. She plucks up tiny morsels of bright flesh, so fresh it's almost still alive and eats every one in one neat bite. The arcana of wasabi and soy sauce fascinates him, and by the end of the meal, he has consumed raw tuna, and must admit that it's good.

She really does want to kiss him as they leave. He's adorable, and seems to have kept his innate chivalry despite everything, but she's a lot more able to see the damage with the adult eyes. It's enough of a blue-eyed miracle that he hasn't complained about the hand-holding, and even more of one that he manages to seem relatively untroubled until they encounter a phone booth. His responsibilities catch up with him again, and he excuses himself to duck inside.


	7. Chapter 7

Dan is a little surprised when the phone rings, but picks it up before going down to the basement. "Daniel Dreiberg."

"Daniel." It's Rorschach's rasp, and he straightens up a little.

"You okay, buddy?"

"Yes, just... can't come out tonight."

"...Wait, what?" Rorschach is a good guy, but he's a fucking lunatic. After nearly popping his Achilles tendon, Dan had had to be the one to tell him to stay in. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Not injured, have..." He pauses, as if glancing away from the phone at something else. "Have engagement. For evening."

"...Omigod are you on a date?" There's something in his partner's tone that makes Dan certain that he's right.

"...Yes." Walter mutters, still watching Adrienne through the glass. He can't lie to his partner, and money has been exchanged for food and transportation with no expectation of repayment, and hands have been held. Daniel's whoop of joyous hilarity hurts his ear, and he holds the receiver away until his partner regains control of himself. "Not funny, Daniel."

"I'm not laughing at you, I'm happy for you. Is she cute?"

Adrienne waits just far enough away to give him a little privacy, her clear blue eyes watching passersby with keen intelligence. "...Very beautiful." He says quietly, feeling suddenly lost.

"Everything going well? Need advice?"

"Seems to be going well. I can't really be sure."

"Come on, the Great Detective can't tell if a girl digs him?"

"I... it's complicated. I'll be there tomorrow night."

"Good luck, buddy."

"I'll probably need it. Good night, and be careful."

"Thanks." Daniel's voice is soft with surprised pleasure, apparently touched by his concern.

"Welcome." He hangs up and heads out again.

"Business concluded?" Adrienne asks, taking his arm.

"Yes."

"Good." She leans on him and he wonders if the soporific cloud of her scent wrapped around his head is actually visible. "So, do you think you'll want to see me again?"

"Yes." He croaks, wishing for his mask as he blushes for what feels like the millionth time.

She beams. "Wonderful." She checks her little gold watch, probably worth more than he makes in six months. "I don't have anywhere to be for another two and a half hours. What would you like to do?" And it's such an odd question for Walter, so seldom asked. "And for the love of god, don't fret about admission. The world is our oyster."

She has to reel it out of him, but there's an exhibition of modern art he wants to see. She's been curious about it herself, and the spend the next two hours in silent communion, examining massive canvases of back on white and white on black, never mixing to grey.


	8. Chapter 8

He knows who Hatshepsut is and has for some time. He just had no idea it went both ways until now. He sees that golden lioness mask following him in the night, and he's far less surprised than the thugs who outnumber and outweigh him when something beautiful and terrible drops off of a fire escape. She fights almost like he does, close in and personal, but her touch is lighter, paralyzing agents on fine needles finishing the job. He's almost busy watching her to help, because it's so unspeakably beautiful, but he pulls himself together and pulls his weight, the two of them battling in complete silence until the alley is full of unconscious and semi-crippled foes. Adrienne zip ties them all neatly, Rorschach following like a surgical nurse to hold their hands together for her.

"So. Do this often?" She teases as she follows him up to the rooftop to wait for Daniel.

"Oh, every chance I get."

Her laughter is like a medium-sized gold bell instead of a little silver one, and the sound shivers up his spine in a way he doesn't want to deal with yet. The dreams have come back as he continues to see Adrienne, and he's not sure if the scary ones or the filthy ones bother him more. She's close enough for him to smell her, exertion and myrrh, and he's dizzy as they stand together on the rooftop. She takes his black glove in her golden one and he wonders what Daniel will say if he faints dead away before he arrives. That question goes unanswered as Archie's floodlight falls on them, clicking off immediately as they both edge back to clear the landing site.

Everyone knows Hatshepsut, at least a little. A gorgeous girl dressed up like a golden lion has a way of catching and holding one's attention. He wonders who she is, but hell, everybody does. He smiles, seeing her standing beside his partner. "Oh, so you did have backup."

"Wasn't expecting it. Very helpful." Is all he says, and Dan blinks, studying them.

"Well, any friend of Rorschach's would be a friend of mine even if I didn't know them. Need a lift, Hatshepsut?"

She cocks her head, smiling with the small, lush mouth that is all anyone can see of her face. "Need? No. Would appreciate not having to run all the way back to where I left my civvies? Absolutely."

Dan grins. "Well, welcome aboard. Come on, guys, I'm exhausted."

In the close proximity of Archie's interior, he becomes surer than ever that he's found Rorschach's Mystery Date. It's ridiculous, gorgeous women freak him out, but he just sits quietly beside this one, the pair of them talking about art, of all fucking things. He heads for the coordinates Hatshepsut gives him, and glances back at them now and again. The gold of her mask is dull, rich without waving its arms screaming SHOOT HERE PLEASE, and blends well with the other shades of her costume, a simple unitard with a shendyt over it. She crosses her ankles like a schoolgirl, and when they're apparently sure Dan isn't looking, she takes Rorschach's hand.

By the time they drop her off, Dan wants to kiss her himself, just for existing. For being a lovely girl who likes his partner, and who actually seems to understand how damaged he is. Or at least the beginnings of it. Dan doesn't know much, himself, but he knows enough to love Hatshepsut's gentleness. Rorschach gallantly helps her out when she leaves, dropping onto a rooftop that presumably has a dress or something stashed in it. She seems to know where she's going, and Dan takes off, battling ferociously against the good-boy instinct of watching to be sure the girl got her door unlocked and that no one came bursting out of it to kill her.

"So..."

"Obvious. I know." He sighs deeply, and Dan laughs.


	9. Chapter 9

Things go on quite normally for the next two months, and if Dan does a little more patrolling alone, he's delighted for his partner. Rorschach is only slightly different. A little kinder to victims and bystanders, and a little bit more of a wiseass. There's a light, happy quality to all the asskicking, and Dan decides he likes it, grinning under the cowl as Rorschach's laughter does more to frighten the criminal element than a thousand threats.

Naturally, a state of affairs so good can't last forever. Dan comes down to the Nest one night to find his partner sitting hunched on the steps, looking more than anything like a very miserable little boy, shoulders hunched up around his ears. "Rorschach?"

He scrubs frantically at his face, yanking his mask down so fast the latex makes a snapping noise. "Daniel."

"Buddy, are you okay?"

"Fine." He stands, body still filled with tension.

"...Did you and Hatshepsut have a fight?"

"Didn't-- Wouldn't--" He sputters uselessly for a full minute before his voice rings out like the crack of doom as he leaps to his feet. "PRESIDENT TRUMAN WAS A GOOD MAN!" It seems to relieve his feelings a little.

"Oh, here we go..." Dan mutters, wincing. "Rorschach. Buddy. The two of you were gonna disagree on politics. You knew that."

"Advocates welfare state." Rorschach mutters, letting Dan steer him over to the workbench, sitting him down on it. "Utter lack of personal responsibility, softening, pernicious influence. Nation will be defenseless when the Russians come."

Dan groans. "Christ, Rorschach. You can agree to disagree, can't you? I bet we've never voted for the same guy in our lives, and we're friends." It comes out unbidden and obvious, and there's a terrible moment where he's sure Rorschach will say that they aren't, but he just sighs, some of the tension leaving him.

"True."

"Hell, I'm Jewish, and it doesn't seem to bother you."

"It doesn't..." He sighs, resting his face in his gloved hands. "You're a good man, Daniel." He slides his hands under the mask, stretching it grotesquely as he rubs his eyes. "And the Jewish stranglehold on international banking is our own fault." Dan wants to laugh, but doesn't, putting a hand on Rorschach's shoulder and waiting to see if there's anything else. "Said hurtful things." Rorschach finally admits, very quietly.

"I'm sorry, buddy. You wanna talk about it?"

"...You're way too nice, Daniel."

Dan finally does laugh. "Is that a yes? Have we really come so far?"

"Hrrmph. Make coffee."


	10. Chapter 10

"So you called him a narrow-minded fascist, and he screamed something about whores and left?" Nelly has always been sympathetic. A bit ridiculous, sometimes, but sympathetic, and much stronger than anyone knows. And she's been beaten around by love often enough to be good at this sort of conversation, all wide blue eyes and attention.

"That's about it." Adrienne looks down into her club soda and pomegranate juice, and Nelly seems to hear her thoughts, leaning over and tipping a generous measure of vodka into the glass. "Thank you, Nelly." She stirs it in, sighing and knocking back half of it. "I just... the ruling class has historically used the best qualities of the proletariat to keep them where they are."

"Darling, I don't speak Commie."

"Meow to you too. You know what I mean. Those hardworking, god-fearing people who consistently vote for rich old white men who tell them to pull themselves up by their bootstraps when they're so fucking poor they don't have boots." She can feel her lip wobbling. "I can tell how little he had growing up, and to hear him talking about the goddamn Welfare State, all that honor and integrity all twisted around to attack the only breaks he ever got, I-" She gulps the rest of her drink, taking a deep breath and forcing her heart slower. "I get upset."

Nelly pats her hand. "Honey..."

"And I didn't mean to get into personal insults, but he got right on our relative levels of privilege. As if I hadn't done my best to level the playing field."

Nelly shakes her head. "One good thing about being the way I am is that women are used to shutting up and taking what money comes their way. He barely lets you buy him lunch."

Adrienne sighs. "I know that." She presses her glass to her forehead. "Everything's reversed. I have all the money and I'm the one gagging for it and doing my feeble best to respect my partner's limits."

"Not to be crass, but how far have you gotten?" Nelly tips more vodka into her own glass, clear polish gleaming.

"I didn't even know there was a male version of 'under the shirt, over the bra.'"

"The most pointless of all stops in petting." Nelly says sagely. "As I always used to tell the cadets, 'honey, if you've let him get far you might as well enjoy yourself.'"

Adrienne laughs a little bitterly. "He barely knows how to enjoy himself."

"So, how many layers does Rorschach wear, anyway?"

Already slightly tipsy, Adrienne enumerates them on her long fingers. "Trenchcoat, suit jacket, dress shirt... suspenders are what, half a layer?"

"A full layer for removal purposes, so that's four..."

"Five total, he wears ribbed undershirts." She can feel herself flushing and blames it on the liquor. "They're really... soft." She giggles, and Nelly laughs, leaning in and deftly taking Adrienne's glass.

"No more vodka for baby."

"No more vodka for baby." Adrienne echoes, and giggles again.

In another part of the city entirely, Dan and Rorschach are stretched out head to head on his living room floor, breath perfumed with bourbon. "Feel like I'd die if I let her touch my skin." He hiccups. "Just drop dead of some kinda brain embolism, or maybe spontaneously combust." He waves a gloved hand. "FWOOMP. Like a potato chip in a campfire."

"You went camping as a kid?"

"Couple times, but you're missing the point."


	11. Chapter 11

He manages to bypass almost all of her security. It's actually rather embarrassing later, when she realizes how much of it he took out with one paperclip, but still. He missed the last net, and is now growling quietly, all bundled up on himself and looking completely ridiculous. Adrienne, awakened by a quiet alarm and wrapped in a purple kimono, her hair in complete disarray, laughs even as she releases him. "I'm sorry, darling, but you do look ridiculous. How in the world did you make it past the electrified wall?"

He grumpily tosses the net aside and holds out his hands, encased in the kind of big rubber gloves housewives and janitors use. Adrienne laughs again, reeling to lean against the wall, feeling drunk with how glad she is that he's here. "Not that funny." He mutters, pulling them off and shoving them in his pocket.

"I'm just happy." She says softly, and kisses him through his mask, leaning up the way she doesn't have to when he's not on lifts. He makes a surprised little noise, and kisses back, arms wrapping around her in a way that's gradually becoming less heartbreakingly cautious. "I'm sorry for what I said, Walter." She says softly, and he shakes his head.

"Remained on ideological ground. Fought like a gentleman." He sounds so ashamed of himself that she can't laugh, petting him in her concern instead.

"I can afford to. I've always had everything handed to me. Even after I gave it away."

"Adrienne." He cups her face in leather palms that make her wonder how she can ever look animal rights activists in the eye again. "You could easily be a worthless, spoiled brat making the news for being caught with cocaine in your brassiere. Instead you're a philanthropist and a warrior queen. I..." He stalls out, so she pushes his mask up to kiss him properly, feeling hopelessly warm and liquid. There's no way rationality can survive such a state, so she just purrs and presses her tongue into his mouth because she loves the little scandalized noise he makes every time she does.

He doesn't have to work tomorrow, but it's still hard work to get him to stay the night. Adrienne generally sleeps nude, but does have silk pajamas, which she immediately puts on in a vain attempt to make him feel any safer. He insists on wearing his horrible y-fronts under the ones she loans, and puts them on like he's afraid he'll tear them. They were purchased with Adrienne's coloring in mind, but blondes and redheads can both wear green, so he doesn't look too ridiculous. He hasn't eaten all day either, so it turns into something almost like a slumber party, making sandwiches in their pajamas like kids. She's phasing out meat and dairy from her diet, but there's still tuna and cheddar for melts.


	12. Chapter 12

There are no words for the peril he is in, with Adrienne within arm's reach. He curls himself into a tight ball with his back to her, trying not to shiver in the warmth. She just stretches out on her side, lavender-clad back to him, breathing evenly. He wants to touch the fabric, but it would be touching her and he's not sure he would survive. He's afraid he'll dream, but when sleep finally comes, it is merciful.

Adrienne wakes up to a moral conundrum. Walter has wrapped around her in their sleep, holding her close from behind, his face buried in her hair. She can feel what is colloquially termed morning wood and wants to rock back against it, but therein lies the problem. She should really be extricating herself from his grasp altogether, it's what he would want. But besides the selfish considerations, she doesn't have the heart to wake him. He's so peaceful and warm, and it's so good just to feel him with no tension or fear humming in his flesh. He mutters, nuzzles her blindly. Squeezes happily like a little kid with a stuffed animal, and she can't help but purr.

The sound wakes him, and she can feel him tense up, pulling his hips away from hers. She resists the urge to follow, but keeps her arms wrapped over his. "Good morning, Walter."

"Morning. Should-"

"I like you holding me." She says, and does her best not to dig her nails into his arms to keep them where they are. He doesn't say anything, but he does relax fractionally, erection safely away from her. "Will you stay for breakfast?"

He does, looking sort of shocked at himself as he sits at Adrienne's kitchen table, watching her make something he doesn't recognize. It smells good, though, and he waits for her to seat and serve herself. It's all vegetables, but there are at least some beans to give it substance. If it was horrible, he would choke it down because Adrienne made it for him with her own two hands, and it isn't, so he cleans his plate like the charity kid he is. He can see the fact reflected in her eyes, but she's not the kind of person to make fun of it.

She's not surprised when he glances at the clock. He has to be at his thankless fucking day job any minute. She loans him some clothes and shoves cab fare into his hands at the last possible minute so he has no choice but to take it. She can see a flicker of something horrible in his eyes, and impulsively hugs him. "You can pay me back if you want, but think of it as a gift. Please."

"Hn. Haven't given you anything, Adrienne."

"Well why don't you think about that at work today? Books are always a good choice." She smiles at him, desperate to make him stop feeling obligated or like a whore or whatever, and it seems to work, at least a little.


	13. Chapter 13

It takes him a long time to find it, but there's a tiny used book shop near his apartment, and after a month of getting by on even less sleep than usual, he finally lays hands on the first gift to the woman he loves. He's reasonably sure that's what Adrienne is, and it's a thought he tries not to think too often because it terrifies him. But there's good in it, too, like the strange glow nesting in his ribcage like the most exotic of birds as he holds the volume in his hands. They're meeting without masks tonight, so he can give it to Adrienne and not Hatshepsut. Not that The Wizard of Oz is particularly telling, but it's still unnecessarily personal. And it's an old book, he doesn't want to mess it up carting it around under Rorschach's coat.

It's Adrienne's turn to host again, and she's glad. True, New York has good pushcart food, but there's a certain monotony to getting falafel and kielbasa all the time, and even to roasted sugared nuts, fantastic as they are. Still, her heart goes out to him as he follows the hostess to her table. She's gone as downscale as she can while still getting decent French, but the place is luxe enough to make him nervous. After all, there are real napkins. Still, he doesn't look out of place. Grey slacks and a dress shirt. He looks a bit like a busboy, but an adorably earnest one. She smiles to herself, and offers him her hand as he sits down.

"Glad you could make it."

"Always." He says quietly, and the heat that comes over her is suffocating. She's been kidding herself that she's doing well with complete celibacy, and resists the impulse to shudder. "How did the Kelner deal go?"

She sighs. "Well, but it still depresses me."

"Oh?"

And so she explains, about the ungraceful dethroning of the Kelner patriarch by his children, and how a future for millions of children seemed to be built on one broken old man. Walter listens. He's good at that, and he cocks his head, considering what to say in reply. "It's better than the reverse."

"True, particularly from a Utilitarian perspective."

"Nothing wrong with Utilitarianism."

"Oh, darling, there's a lot wrong with it with nothing to temper it. You just don't even notice because you're so naturally moral yourself." He opens his mouth, then shuts it, ears red. He tries to hide behind the menu, but it's pre fixe and he doesn't read French anyway, so he has to give up.

"...Thank you."

"You're welcome." She goes on to explain just what they'll be getting, and that she's willing to trade him things he likes for things he doesn't. As expected, it takes a little coaxing, but he eats everything. She has actually forgotten about telling him to get her a book if he feels compelled, so when they've gone back to her place for a nightcap (whiskey for her, chocolate milk for her blushing bride) she's surprised when he pulls out a flat package. It's a testament to his skill at hiding things that she hasn't noticed it, large as it is.

"You said a book might be good."

"So I did." He hands it over and waits for her to undo the careful wrapping. She has to assume the look on her face is satisfactory as she pulls out a gorgeous old edition of The Wizard of Oz. Walter doesn't seem to realize why he's being kissed until she tells him that he reminds her of the Tin Man.


	14. Chapter 14

Dan only finds the marks because his partner takes a slash the needs a couple stitches, and more importantly, an ocean of disinfectant Rorschach carries a lot of cuts and bruises, and Dan almost doesn't notice the difference. He has to assume Rorschach was trusting in that, and there's evil glee in his voice when he leans close and hisses, "Hey."

"What?" Rorschach mutters.

Dan can feel the ludicrous grin spreading across his face. "You've got like, four hickeys." He dances out of the way of Rorschach's reflexive swat. "Just what have you been up to, young man?"

"Clearly, have sustained brain injury." Rorschach mutters, hauling his clothes back on.

"Yeah, from a falling brick of being happy for you. How long have you two been seeing each other, anyway?"

"Four months, give or take."

"Wow."

"Not so long."

"Still, by four months it generally counts as real."

"Very real." He looks down at his gloves, ink swirling over his cheeks. Dan watches him for a moment, and then decides to drag him upstairs for another heart to heart. It's about time. Apparently Hatshepsut is doing her absolute best not to push him further than he wants to go (the implication that his enigmatic partner is a virgin is both shocking and kind of hot), and Rorschach is beginning to feel bad for constantly blueballing her. And himself, as Dan eventually gets him to admit.

"Well, if you're saving yourself for marriage or whatever..." Dan pauses, swirling his coffee. "You've still got options."

"I might've trusted a pervert to know them." Rorschach mutters.

Dan sticks his tongue out at him. "Head isn't perverted, it's one of the four food groups."

"You are remarkably childish, Daniel."

"I like to think it keeps me limber. But seriously." He leans forward, very earnest behind his glasses. "You're down to manual or oral at this point."

"Don't know how to do either." He mutters sullenly.

"Honestly, I don't think she expects you to, buddy."

"You don't?"

"If Hatshepsut's anything, it's smart. She's probably already figured that you don't have much experience. If you think about it, you haven't learned anything she has to unteach you. She can just show you what she likes."

The ink is scudding like storm clouds now, and Dan does his best not to laugh, pretty sure his partner is redder than red under there. "We'll have to talk about it." He looks at the clock and gets up, thanking Dan for the coffee and heading back down the stairs, to whatever obscurity he inhabits when he's not Rorschach.


	15. Chapter 15

Frustrating as this is, there's isn't much Adrienne would trade it for. Men and women have both trembled in her arms, but there's a certain gravity to Walter. He's very serious about love, and even though neither of them dare call it so, that's what this is. She presses a line of kisses to his jaw and sighs as he guides her hand under his shirt. Stalled at second base, she's mapped his torso extensively. He'll actually let her get her hands under the singlet these days, and she pinches both nipples, feeling cruel but unable to resist the way he jerks and gasps, shocked every time. He moans her name in a way that makes it the most beautiful word in the world, burying his face in the crook of her neck and she clenches so tightly it hurts. She shudders and takes a deep breath, fighting to keep her hands from wandering.

Adrienne understands a lot, but Walter has the feeling she doesn't really know how afraid he is. But he can't be a coward forever. He clings to her for a long moment before pulling away and stripping to the waist, something he can rarely bring himself to do, even though Adrienne says she likes the view. He can see the effort reflected in her eyes, and she covers him in kisses, delicate hands on his hips. It's like being showered with rose petals, each touch brief and soft, and he shivers, still barely able to process her gentleness. She's saying something to him, softly and in a language he doesn't know. He can't deny what he can't comprehend, so they don't have to argue. She bites his neck and he almost pulls away because the feeling seems to race down his spine to his cock, and he can't help but have a moment of panic because he doesn't know if he'll survive letting Adrienne touch him. Still, resolve has always been one of his strengths.

Walter plucks up her right hand, and for a moment Adrienne thinks they've come to a stopping point again, and then nearly swallows her tongue in shock as he presses it between his legs all at once, before his courage fails. He's hot under her palm, and whimpers as she rubs slow circles, kissing him again. "It's okay, Walter." She says softly, squeezing just a little and making him shiver. "I won't do anything you don't want me to." She hopes to god she can make good on that promise, and not just push him onto his back and have her way with him. He shudders, and nods, pressing up into her hand. It's infuriatingly sophomoric, but amazing in its own way. If he needs two layers of cloth between them, so be it. His heart is hammering so loud it worries her a little, but he actually reaches up to unbutton her blouse the rest of the way, so she's just going to go with it.

Walter can't help but fear her body almost as badly as he wants it and has barely dared touch her below the neck, but now, helpless in her grip with whitenoise in his ears, he's going to be fair. He has no idea how to do this and if she laughs he will die, here and now with bloody foam drooling out of his mouth, but he carefully undoes each sacred little mother of pearl button, shaking hands sliding around on automatic to find the clasp of her bra, tentatively sliding his hands under it and trying not to pass out, die, or explode when Adrienne moans and leans into his touch. Her breasts fit in his hands. That's the thing he keeps coming back to, drugged with fear and the scent of myrrh and the white-hot pulse of Adrienne's hand on him. It's like they're made to fit together.

His hands are calloused, and Adrienne really does feel like she's on fire. It's a shame it's such a cliche, but this pure and annihilating feeling is like the smooth and inevitable rise of a candle flame in a room without drafts, that soft and perfect liquid sweep heavenward. He bucks against her palm as he weighs her flesh in reverent hands. He doesn't grab or pinch before she's ready, just palming her, soothing the aching points of her nipples in the hollows of his palms, shaking and pressing a kiss to her neck. He can't possibly make it much longer, and she pulls away just enough to watch him shatter. He doesn't make a sound, save for the passive one of sucking in a massive breath, eyes wide and unseeing. She rubs him gently as he rides it out, closing her thighs on overflowing wetness. When he comes back to himself a little, she kisses him, and holds him even as he mutters about needing do something for her.

"Walter, you're nowhere near ready for the things I want right now." She smiles and kisses him again. "I'll loan you some underwear and you can leave before I get pushy."

"I trust you." It comes out unbidden, and Adrienne feels something colossal and predatory unfurl its black wings in her chest.

She shivers and bites his neck. "I would never hurt you, but please spare me some torture." She says it lightly, but as Walter heads away, getting hard again in blue silk boxers, he shudders to think how much she means it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Adrienne's bra: http://www.polyvore.com/french_lace_cup_bra/thing?id=15893014


	16. Chapter 16

"Daniel."

He opens his eyes to to the black and white face of a corpse. "Gah!" He sits up so fast his partner has to leap back.

"Should have noticed me, Daniel."

"Fuck, what time is it? What are you doing here?" He scrabbles for his glasses for a moment before Rorschach presses them into his hand. "Thanks, buddy." He yawns, blinking. "Now, what do you want?"

"Need to make manual and oral sex less terrifying." He rasps, and Dan smacks his forehead, breathing deeply.

"Why me, Rorschach?" His partner just stares at him, and Dan groans. "Don't answer that. Look, I'm not really sure what I can do about this. Do you want advice on technique? Breathing exercises? God, it's half-past eight. What is that in normal people time? Four?"

"...Any advice you can give me, Daniel." He coughs slightly. "Have books. Not very informative."

"Oh god, man. Look, lemme go make some coffee and we'll see what we can do." Rorschach waits while he puts on a bathrobe, then follows him to the kitchen and accepts a cup of coffee when it's ready, staring down into it like it contains the secrets of the universe. Dan sits across from him, blowing at the steam rising form his own cup. "So. How can I help you?"

Rorschach sighs. "I... I can't keep holding back. God alone knows why, but she wants me, and I really, really--"

"Want her right back and not to fuck this up?"

"Exactly. In equal proportions."

"Hey, fifty-fifty will do. Look." He sets his coffee down, leaned toward his partner. "Everybody talks about how complicated women are, but it's not that hard. There's three spots you need to know how to find, you gotta remember to be gentle and start slow, and you need to listen to her. I know you care enough about her to do it right, and she'll tell what you need to know about her specifically, like how hard and what speed. Relax."

"...Only three?"

"Main ones that every chick has, yeah."

"Oh." He hooks his mask up, finally taking a sip of his coffee, grimacing as he realizes that he's been too preoccupied to add sugar. Dan smiles and slides the bowl over to him.

"So relax. I've got some diagrams around here somewhere."

"Diagrams, Daniel?"

"I think it's good for a man to read feminist literature."

Rorschach doesn't dignify that with a response, but does listen intently to informative lecture that follows, eyes the size of dinner plates behind his mask.


	17. Chapter 17

She means to ask if he's sure. Really she does, but the slide of Walter's fingers into her is too good to question. His touch is delicate, searching, and she has a sudden impulse to laugh because he's clearly done some reading since she saw him last. The pads of his fingers gently rub over her g-spot for a moment, the sensation dim, rough, and pleasant as always, then expertly crook and press up behind and she bites back a cry, not wanting him to think he's hurt her. The poor thing is nervous enough already, trembling as he slowly strokes her, his thumb timidly pressing her clit. She shudders, rolling her hips a little and watching the wonder and terror on his face.

There are no words for how tight she is, how warm and slick. Walter's hand moves like something in a dream, mapping dimly understood anatomy. He can't bring himself to speak, but when Adrienne does, he listens. Her directions are simple, and soon he's grinding up into that little dent much harder than he would have dared do under his own impetus. Adrienne rolls her hips and groans, the low, dark sound crawling down his spine as she hauls him down to bury his face in her breasts. Or to do so as well as she can manage, being a gymnast. It's just as well she doesn't have more, he might start feeling suffocated and panic. As it is he can nuzzle her, licking and nibbling gently and always able to breathe.

Adrienne has never felt quite so responsible for a lover. Walter is a bundle of faultlines and cracks, and desperately as she wants to grab him by the hair and force him down, she resists. Rocks on his hand and bites him instead, quick, vicious and over and over again, so hungry for him that she's reduced to being nearly literal. He flinches every time but doesn't pull away, each exhalation a rasping gasp. His hips buck in time, and she can feel what he wants to do in the quick pace of his hand. With the corner of her mind that she can always spare, she curses his mother and everyone else whose fault it is that he's not fucking her stupid this very instant. It's a very small part, though. And when he locks eyes with him, even that much disappears.

"You're so fucking beautiful." It comes out almost conversationally, and then she's coming so hard her vision greys out. She clings to him and listens to him whimper as she crushes his hand in hard waves. Her ears are ringing a little as she shakes to a stop, but she can hear Walter breathing. He slides out gingerly, and her heart nearly stops when he timidly licks the wetness that has dripped down to his wrist. He squeaks when she pushes him onto his back, and groans helplessly as she unzips his jeans. "It's only fair, darling" she says softly, "but I'll stop if you really want me to." He shakes his head violently, and she laughs, stroking him hard and slow, which seems to be his favorite. It's hardly any time at all before he's groaning, sinking his teeth into his forearm to stifle himself as he explodes in her hand. "Much better." Adrienne purrs, biting his neck.

"Uhn."

"Precisely." She licks the hollow of his throat and listens to his breath catch. They stay there on her couch in companionable silence for a while, but Adrienne starts to feel too sticky, and trips quietly off to clean herself, coming back with a warm, wet washcloth before Walter has managed to marshal himself fully upright. The awed incomprehsion in his face when she carefully cleans him makes her stop to kiss him, and he whimpers into her mouth. "Stay the night?" She murmurs.

An intense struggle is visible in his face before he gives in. "Yes."

"Wonderful."

There are no pajamas involved this time, and Walter lets her wrap around him and press kisses to the fever-warm skin at the nape of his neck.


	18. Chapter 18

Waking up is disorienting as it always is when he's here. He's just not used to it. To everything being soft, but having no injuries and no drugs to shake off because he's not in the clutches of the Twilight Lady. To nothing smelling bad, when his building is a miasma of human stinks even if he finds time to clean. This time he feels even more unmoored than usual, because everything is soft and nothing hurts, and there's miles of silky, warm, ( _female_ ) skin pressed against his and that's always wrong, but somehow he knows it isn't this time. His eyes finally open, and purple sheets help him slot things into place.

Adrienne purrs and rubs against him a little because she's earned it, by god. She can feel Walter awake, feel that wary subconscious tension as he works out where he is and then relaxes again. "Good morning." She says softly.

"It's not morning." He yawns hugely. "Sun's not right."

"Mm. Good afternoon, then." She nibbles his ear and he shivers.

"Adrienne..." He sighs, and arches his back like a happy cat as she runs her hands from his chest to his knees, savoring the slow slide of rocklike muscle. His skin is always a little softer than she expects. Probably has something to with always being covered, the roughness of face and hands giving way to this warm, dappled expanse, crossed and recrossed with scars. She has her own scars, though, and his don't worry her overmuch. She knows some of them are laddered with his growth, but he still hasn't explained them and she honestly doubts whether he'll ever be ready. Right now, she's just blown away that he's letting her pet him like this, letting her hold him close and not even flinching when her hands slide past his cock. She grins against his shoulder to realize that for once, she's not touching him there for her own reasons, not his.

"Find something amusing?" He purrs, voice still deep and syrupy with sleep.

"Just happy." She gives him a friendly squeeze and he whines, rocking into her hand a little. "Glad I can touch you like this." She adds, stroking him slowly. He whines and shudders, groaning her name again. She decides that she has never liked hearing it so much, and tells him so, quietly. The intelligence makes him moan, and he cries out when she bites his shoulder. It isn't much longer after that, and his hips buck helplessly as he comes with a strangled cry.

It takes Walter a while to open his eyes again, and he looks over to see Adrianne licking her hand, and it's so disgusting and so horribly beautiful that he's not really sure what to do about it. So he just stares, and she blushes. "I wanted to taste you."

"...Why?" It comes out a bit more incredulous than he wants it to, and she laughs, the sound as bright as the sunbeams that are spilling across the floor.

"Because I want to." She says, with the marvelous certainty of a beloved child. Because she wants to is enough of a reason for anything that doesn't hurt someone else, and Walter has to hug her, with no words for how much he appreciates it.


	19. Chapter 19

"So when are you going to propose?" Nelly smiles softly over the rim of her glass. They're always drinking at these little bull sessions, but Nelly seems to be avoiding Brynne's fate.

"Really, I already had."

Nelly shakes her head. "Children can't propose, they can only make appointments to do it later."

She grins slowly. "You may be right."

"So, I take it you're at least getting head these days?"

"Eleanor Gardner, you are sometimes shockingly vulgar."

"It's a gift. And a relic of the military. But truly. You look better, like you feel better."

"Well." Adrienne can feel herself blushing, and takes a sip of her own drink, momentarily distracted by the taste of alcohol. "You're such a bad influence, Nelly. But yes. I do feel better." She giggles. "He feels better for sure."

Nelly laughs. "No more of this shortstop stuff?"

"Shortstop?"

"It's what you call it when you stall between first and second base, since there's no first and a half."

"Well, that's certainly over. I'm not going to bandy a gentleman's name or anything, but we're at least at handjobs, and I don't think he's going to be able to resist oral much longer."

"Oh, you'd be surprised how tough that can be."

"He's a man, Nelly, not a stone butch."

"All bullshit aside, they always let you touch them. Always. It can take a lot of begging and bitching, but in the end they ways cave." She empties her glass. "It's the natural condition of man to seek touch, after all."

Adrienne sighs. "No matter how thwarted. He's got cigarette burn scars, Nelly. And they're ancient."

She shakes her head, and comes around the glass-topped coffee table to sit beside Adrienne. "You're already doing the right thing. I mean, maybe I should've pushed Rowena more, she was too tough, but you have to let them spit it out, no matter how horrible everything you imagine in between is."

"Always assumed Hooded Justice had some kind of abuse history."

Nelly rolls her eyes, bright and brittle. "Honey, we all knew that. I was just glad to find out that her aversion to men wasn't a result of the spinach principle."

"...The spinach principle?"

"If you're forced to have it as a child, you won't like it as an adult."

There's something so horribly amusing in this that Adrienne bursts out laughing, and the two of them sit there on the loveseat, sniffling and brimming with shared sadness for men and ghosts and the children they used to be.


	20. Chapter 20

"Daniel."

"Yes?"

"Have question."

"Well, just pass me the littlest crescent wrench and ask away."

"Supposing someone is saving themselves for marriage."

"Mmhm? Gotcha, you fucker." A chunk of someone's gimmicky bat-shaped boomerang clinks to the floor. "Sorry, buddy. So, saving themselves."

A quiet, guilty cough. "...How far can they go?"

Dan whoops with laughter, and slides out from under Archie. "Well, well, well." He says when he can speak, engine grease smearing along one cheekbone as he wipes his eyes.

"Not funny, Daniel."

"Really, I'm happy for you. And it is funny. Really, people have a lot of definitions for virginity. Almost all of them are applied to girls, what with the pan-cultural obsession with controlling female sexuality-- don't roll your eyes, you chauvinist pig, or you'll never get to find out how far you can go." He sits up and stretches, tucking the wrench into his pocket. "First, there's the whole hymen thing, which is total bunk because a girl can lose hers horseback riding and useless in your case since boys don't have them, and then we get into the whole idea of plural virginity and technical virginity... For my money, if you have a cock, actually want to put it into a woman or women, and have not done so, you're a virgin. Lesbians would call me narrow-minded, but they have blurrier boundaries."

"...Read entirely too much liberal literature."

"I'm just saying, you can go down on her without a ring."


	21. Chapter 21

She's sweet. That's about the only thing Walter can process right now, and that's just fine. He had thought this would scare him a lot more than it does. Maybe it's something about how he's on his knees, at her service. He had expected it to feel dirtier than this, and not so much like praying. Adrienne's legs flex where they're hooked over his shoulders, and he whimpers, redoubling his efforts. Her hands are knotted in his hair, and the delicate dig of her nails into his scalp makes him moan.

Adrienne feels high, and she'd laugh from pure, brainless joy if poor damaged Walter wouldn't assume it was at him. And his performance is anything but laughable. She's not sure how much is dedicated study (and the image of Walter at the public library, frowning down at a Betty Dodson book or something with diagrams is nearly enough to make her come right now) and how much is natural talent, but the resulting experience is definitely a gestalt. His lips are chapped, but soft and mobile, and his tongue is as precise and deadly as his hands.

Adrienne bucks and shudders in a way he's coming to recognize, and Walter whines as her heels dig into his back, then sputters and coughs as she nearly drowns him. Daniel had warned him that this might happen, but the possibility had seemed remote, and he had no idea there would be so much of it. Adrienne howls, soaking his face with warm wetness. It's thinner than the other kind, and drips off his chin and down to the hollow of his throat. When Adrienne is finally quiet and still, he sits back, delicately wiping each eye so he can open them, dimly aware of how hard he is and of how much it aches.

She's been afraid he would freak out if she did this, but he's just looking up at her, jeans so tented it's a wonder the button fly doesn't pop. Adrienne moans and struggles to collect herself, sliding onto the floor to join him because that's the easiest. He lets her push him onto his back, and whimpers softly as she pulls his pants off, careful not to let the denim touch him where he's so catastrophically sensitive.

"I'll stop if you want me to." She breathes, eloquence gone for now, and dips her head to take him into her mouth.

Walter makes a sound like she's gutting him with a dull knife, and his hands fly uselessly out to grab at the carpet. He groans Adrienne's name, melting under her, and she purrs around, sliding her hands up his thighs, stroking old scars. He can't possibly last, not as full of self-denial as he is, already so hard. She's used to resisting the urge to straddle him and sink down, and sublimates it into licking and sucking devastating little patterns that make Walter groan and twitch. He glances down at her and flushes down to his shoulders, letting his head thump back against the carpet as he stares at the ceiling.

"It's okay." Adrienne murmurs softly. "I like doing this."

"D-don't see how..." He mutters, one arm covering his eyes as his mouth drops open.

"Well, didn't you like licking me?" He squeaks helplessly, and she chuckles, relaxing her throat and slowly taking his whole length, making him groan again, the sound trailing off into a sob.

"Oh god..."

Adrienne just hums happily, making him whimper and then cry out as she slides back, tracing the edge of his foreskin with the tip of her tongue. He can't possibly stand much of this, and within a few minutes his breathing has gone into the harsh register that means the end is nigh, and even though he eats meat and drinks coffee constantly and it's bitter as hell, she swallows anyway, licking him clean as he fights to regulate his breathing and to stop trembling. He pulls her up with almost violent haste, and for a moment she's afraid he's going to have some kind of relapse, but he just kisses her, whining helplessly into her mouth. She kisses back, and holds him for a long time as he calms down.


	22. Chapter 22

Walter almost regrets crossing that line. Almost. There are days he can't put her out of his mind and feels like he'll blush to death, and nights he can't sleep for dreaming. Under it all is embarrassment. It's humiliating to be so needy, to have fits of hysterical weeping because giving in to his lust is so alien. There are times he almost hates Adrienne because wanting to please her draws him further into this sticky tangle, makes him get down on his knees for her, whining like a child, like a puppy as she grips his hair and presses against his mouth like when she kisses him, devouring and wet. Right now he growls and presses his thighs together, trapping growing hardness.

He hates being distracted like this at work, but Adrienne is coming to pick him up after his shift is over, and he supposes this stupid, hormonal haze is inevitable. His underwear is sticky, and he knows only some of it is the heat. It doesn't quite make him feel like a whore anymore (it's all for one woman, how can he be a whore?) but it's still obnoxious. Time crawls by until he can clock out, but he's meticulous in cleaning up his station. It's not much of a profession, but he still has professional pride, and he will not rush out to greet his girlfriend like the teenagers who leave things on the floor, orders rumpled, thread tangled, the dust of their passage flying in the sunlight that blasts in from the open door.

Walter walks out at his normal pace, or if anything a more sedate one, but Adrienne can see the energy humming in his body, and grins. The expression is more than a little feral, because she has been entirely too busy for the past two weeks. She pushes the passenger side door open, and Walter pours himself into the air conditioning, fastening his seatbelt by touch, eyes blissfully closed.

“To you too.” She smiles, pulling away into the welter of traffic. “Is your tolerance high? Was today not too irksome?”  
He thinks about it, to give her a truthful answer. “Yes. There was a young girl who wanted her dress to be less skimpy instead of more, and a man who was patient with his children.”

Adrienne smiles. “Good. Hungry?”

And it’s a testament to how far they’ve come that he can say, “Always” and not fret that Adrienne will be paying for it.

“Perfect. I’m afraid it’s a bit upscale, though, so we’ll need to get you a shower and some fresh clothes first.” She herself is as cool as a tray of cucumber sandwiches set into crushed ice, her own clothes the dictionary definition of ‘fresh’. Again, it’s wonderful that Walter can just fucking nod, can accommodate that. Adrienne has a strange, superstitious feeling about Walter borrowing her clothes as he so often does. It’s a mixture of wanting to gift him with power and assurance that don’t come from violence, and a sense of marking her territory, that if she wraps him in her scent he won’t be able to get away.

Sometimes she has the feeling he picks up on that, like now as he slithers oh so cautiously into a pair of lightweight khakis and the short-sleeved black shirt that makes Adrienne look more like a boy than anything else she owns. On Walter it shows off his more than perfect arms and makes him look a little like angel of death, and she has to smile, leading him back out again. She wants to just sit with him and hold his hand like any other infatuated girl, so they take a cab. On the ride over she informs him that she's inflicting foreign food on him again, to his feigned despair. He's starting to like sushi, no matter what he says, even if he has a hard time eating sashimi for reasons that have nothing to do with disliking it.


	23. Chapter 23

He supposes he can blame the food, pink and sweet and obscene, far too much protein in the middle of the day. Whatever the reason, he's letting Adrienne take him apart, little pointed nails digging into every faultline in his battered decency and ripping it away, leaving nothing but this wanton creature, writhing on the couch in broad daylight. The upholstery is soft, almost as smooth as Adrienne's skin, and Walter whimpers and wriggles, ridiculous, an ass adored by a fairy queen. Adrienne hasn't even undone her shirt and Walter is completely naked, letting her explore every inch of him with those perfect hands.

"Beautiful." Adrienne purrs, sounding a like a big cat, and he shudders.

"N-not..." A tender kiss to his throat silences him.

"As far as I'm concerned, you are." She kisses him on the mouth, and he moans, feeling his skin flush all over. Walter reaches for her again, even though he's just supposed to let her touch him, and Adrienne giggles, gently plucking his hands away and pressing them down. "Not yet, but soon." She slides her hands up his sides and presses, signaling him to move. He's confused for a moment, then rolls over and groans as she presses kisses to his shoulders and then works down. Each petal soft touch shocks up and down his spine, making his breath catch. Adrienne just purrs again, nipping and sucking, distracting him. He melts under it, grabbing at the couch and sinking into a haze, wriggling shamelessly, rutting a little against the cushions.

This is probably a bad idea. Probably. But Adrienne has her limits, and as she sucks him into her mouth and hears that low, hungry sound that's almost a sob, she knows she can't resist. She's gentle, though. Very, very gentle as she teases his hole with one wet finger, and gentler still as she presses in. He yelps and tenses all over, of course. "It's all right." She says softly. "It's all right, just relax. I'll stop if you need me to." He just whimpers, caught, and gradually relaxes around her, trembling. She feels bad for him, and like a terrible person for making this happen, but a deep groan rolls out of him, edged with surprise, and she has no choice but to slowly, slowly add a second one.

It feels wonderful, and that only makes it worse. Walter stares at the ceiling with unseeing eyes and tries simply to keep breathing, feeling defiled and invaded, and more guilty still because he doesn't want it to stop. He whimpers and bucks automatically, and when he comes there's a moment where he thinks that he really is dead, that she's finally been the death of him, like Zeus to Semele. And then he's back in his body, shuddering and gasping, and those perfect lips are pressing all over his face, and even one touch would be too much, to say nothing of Adrienne melted across him. There is no other choice, and as soon as he can he slides away, yanking his clothes back on with shaking hands. He doesn't look at Adrienne because he can't, because he'll see the hunger in her eyes and know that he's failing both of them, not just himself.

"Walter?" Her voice is soft, not angry at all. Scared, actually, and it twists in his gut.

"N-not..." He gets tangled in his undershirt and it tears a little on the side seam as he yanks it on, but that doesn't matter. "Not you. Haven't... I'm sorry." He runs out, and she has the sense not to follow him.

Adrienne sits in the ensuing silence, wet halfway down her thighs and feeling like a rapist. It's an unpleasant feeling, and she keeps her teeth tightly clenched as she walks to the shower, shedding articles of clothing as she goes and willing herself not to cry. She lasts for five minutes under the hot water, then sinks to the floor and cries too hard to make a sound for a long time. She tries to be reasonable, to tell herself that he'll be back and that he never actually told her to stop, but nothing helps.

Adrienne Veidt has no Valium. No Xanax, and not even any booze. But she does have painkillers. She doesn't approve of off-label uses for them, and on a purely practical level, Hatshepsut needs them more than she does. But now is a special occasion, and she sits in the kitchen, wrapped in her softest, thickest, and most shapeless bathrobe, calming slowly as synthetic opiates diffuse through her bloodstream. The misery is still there, but at least now it's down to quiet sniffles, and she doesn't feel like she's going to cry herself into a stroke. The hot mug of jasmine tea is helping, too. She makes herself wait until she has the first one to call Nelly.


	24. Chapter 24

She honestly wasn't expecting Nelly to drop everything and come right over, but she is profoundly grateful for it, and it says something for how distraught she is that it takes her most of another crying fit to register the pearls and the Chanel No. Five. They're sitting on the couch when she pulls back to actually look at Nelly, all high-femme for the evening. "Did I ruin a date?"

"Only nipped off the end of one, and it probably saved us from sitting around my living room being painfully awkward." She strokes Adrienne's hair back into order and wipes her eyes with an actual lace-edged handkerchief because she's Nelly. "Now, darling. What happened?"

Adrienne can't help but start sniffling again, but tells her about it. "The worst part is that I know he liked it, but that he can't just fucking let himself enjoy it."

"Adrienne, Adrienne, Adrienne. You can't expect a man like that to just up and be okay with something so queer, no matter how nice it is." She sighs, settling back and studying her little lavender pumps, which match the little lavender purse sitting on Adrienne's kitchen table.

"I just hope he'll actually let me touch him again."

"He will, honey." She pats Adrienne's hand. "They're not built to resist."

Adrienne laughs, and feels very slightly better. "Well. And how are you doing? Just who is this young lady?"

Nelly actually blushes and Adrienne wonders fondly if some people never grow up. "My manicurist's cousin. I don't think she's really mean enough for me, but..." She trails off, obviously taken with the girl regardless.

"So is she one of those six foot tall Swedish girls?" Adrienne teases. "Does she play basketball?"

"Not my usual type at all. A little China doll."

And Adrienne thinks of the demographics of nail salons in the city and tries not to groan. "Nelly..."

"What?" Her blue eyes narrow slightly. "Some girls do look like porcelain dolls. She's four foot eleven and paler than I am."

"Oh."

"And she is from China, but I swear I've improved enough that I wasn't thinking of that."

Adrienne chuckles. "And so whose idea was tonight?"

"Hers, you know how forward these young girls are."


	25. Chapter 25

Her Chinese given name is Xiaohui, and it comes off Nelly's tongue is a sweet slur, only the beginning and the end really standing up for themselves, piquant. Since almost no native English speaker can pronounce this (even Nelly's version is apparently 'adorably wrong') Xiaohui goes by Sophia for most of her day to day business.

"She chose it because her own name means 'little wisdom.'" Nelly explains, sipping plum tea.

Adrienne smiles. "And she's your manicurist's sister?"

"Yes, so if this goes badly I'll have to find another salon." She looks mournfully at her devastatingly perfect nails, politician's wife peach-pink, with that sharp, crisp border of white.

"If you end up heartbroken, you may get them done on my tab while you look for another place."

Nelly lifts her cup in a toast of a gratitude, and blushes like the schoolgirl she hasn't been in about thirty-five years as she answers all of Adrienne's questions. With her own relationship in a state of strain, it's fun to pick through someone else's, even if tonight was only the second date, dim sum and Swan Lake because of course Nelly has season tickets quietly rusting away. At least Xiaohui doesn't seem like so much like a gold-digger as someone who likes way older white women for their own sake. Adrienne can understand the impulse. Despite being a mask and serving in World War Two, there's something delicate about Nelly. Helpless and meek and bringing out sadistic and helping impulses in equal measure.

Pondering the character of someone she has never met proves a fairly effective distraction, and she gets to sleep more easily than she thought she would only to dream of running after will-o-the-wisps and extinguishing them between her hands no matter how much she only means to look at them.

For his part, Walter has a terrible week. He sits hunched over his machine at work, a snarled, spiky ball of tension, and Rorschach works alone so Nite Owl won't force him to stop, to become Walter again and go to bed at dawn. He sees Hatshepsut a few times, but doesn't speak to her. She doesn't seem to expect it. He's already been back to the library, examining the male diagrams in some of the same books, so he doesn't need anyone to explain how it works to him. What he can't shake is the feeling of profound deviance, and even more than that, the fear of losing control of himself so completely are keeping him in knots.

Adrienne calls the filthy hall phone, tolerates the leers of the junkie next door, and waits, the receiver swinging in space until Walter gets there. She does all that just to apologize to him, and it's almost more than he can stand.

"Don't--" He croaks, "don't do that."

"Walter, I've clearly given you some kind of terrible shock, and I can't help but feel bad about it because I love you. What can I do?"

It's the first time either of them has said it, and Walter wonders if he's going to die of this. "Am not-- Am not angry with you." He checks the time. "Can I meet you somewhere?"

"Always." She says.

Twenty minutes later he's curled up in the passenger seat of her car, watching what the neon signs and streetlights do to the rain on the window. They still haven't said a word, just sitting here in traffic. "I meant it when I said I wasn't angry with you." He offers, still looking away.

"I know. Did I scare you?"

"...Yes." He blinks, realizing that she's right.

"Then that is exactly what I'm sorry for." He looks over at her as the cars ahead of them actually start to move.

"It's okay."

She takes his hand as they get going, and doesn't let go for the rest of the drive.


	26. Chapter 26

It's horribly deviant, and Walter supposes he should be alarmed that Adrienne is able to talk him into a situation like this, but there is a certain ineffable logic to it. It was her wandering hands that alarmed him, and so it is her hands that are now safely restrained. She told him exactly how to do it, dainty wrists crossed over her head for him to loop a figure eight of silk around, secure as a good bandage, and now she tugs uselessly against the headboard, perfect skin dewy with sweat. It has always fascinated Walter, and now he can actually concentrate, comparing a thousand different shades of alabaster and just as many grades of silk. He buries his face in the hollow of her throat, breathing in her scent as she trembles under him.

"Walter..." Her voice is husky and faintly desperate. "Please, I want to see you."

He hasn't removed a stitch of his own clothing, hands and mouth too busy exploring her, but Adrienne's voice is so plaintive he pulls away enough to unbutton his shirt. Even though she can't touch him (and what a lie that is, backed up by her chivalrous refusal to use her lithe legs to move him) he shudders when those blue-green eyes lock with his. He doesn't blink as he slides it off of his arms and tosses it aside, and Adrienne whines and wriggles, thighs pressed tightly together. He peels off his undershirt and then pulls Adrienne's legs apart. She's so impossibly wet that it's easy to do the same obscene thing to her that she did to him, and she cries out and presses down onto the intrusion. Walter shudders, watching the fearless way she meets this kind of violation, and she opens her eyes to stare into his again.

Adrienne tells him how good it is, and exactly how to angle his touch upward, bucking and panting as he follows her directions to the letter. The feeling is so sharp it's almost pain, but that's an important almost, and she wails, legs wrapping around Walter because she has to hold him somehow. Walter shivers and kisses her, tented pants still between them. His speckled skin is flushed, and his face has that grim, controlled look she's come to love so well. Adrienne moans and grinds against him, making a pitiful noise when he slides his fingers free and presses her legs to the mattress again, pulling away.

"Hush." He says, voice soft and hoarse. She is quiet, and miracle of miracles, Walter slithers out of his pants and his grey, depressing briefs to range over her again, staring into her eyes, the head of his cock sliding over and over her clit as his hips set up a delicate, devastating rhythm. Adrienne bucks helplessly under him, and whimpers, coming so hard that light bursts behind her closed eyelids. When she can see again, Walter's eyes are locked on hers, and he looks lost, brown almost entirely swallowed by black. He's shaking, and she whines desperately, struggling against the scarf because she needs to touch him more than she needs her next breath.

Walter's hands are shaking at least as badly as the rest of him, but he scrambles to untie her. Adrienne takes it from there, rolling him onto his back and kissing him within an inch of his life before sliding down and taking him into her mouth. She can taste herself on him, and it's less than a minute before he's making those helpless, tormented noises, hands knotted in the sheet.

It's a long time before either of them can move, and Walter clings to her. Adrienne smiles, and presses a kiss to the center of his chest. "Feeling better?"

"Maybe." He rumbles, taking her hands and pressing kisses to her wrists.

She smiles, watching. "They're not even marked, Walter. It's okay."

"Mnm." He kisses the palms of her hands and hugs her again, nuzzling her neck. "Okay."


	27. Chapter 27

When Adrienne feels like moving again, she runs them both a bath. Walter is feeling sufficiently in control of his life to crawl in with no objections, and groans, sinking into rose-scented water. She smiles at him from the opposite end, toes walking up his arm to tickle the side of his neck. He makes a disgruntled noise, bringing his shoulder up to defend himself before turning his head to kiss the top of her foot.

Adrienne's smile widens. "You know, I really don't think I could love you more."

Walter is already pink from the heat, but turns pinker still, pressing a kiss to her ankle. "I... It still doesn't make sense to me."

She sighs, drawing her foot back and crawling forward to rest her head on his shoulder, the water rippling in her wake. "I know, Walter." She kisses the hollow of his throat. "I've been wondering if there's any way I can explain it to you."

"Hurm." He strokes her hair back from her damp cheek. "I know you don't need anyone to provide for you or to grant social status. But you could have married Johnathan Grey."

"I could have, but he's gay."

"...Really?"

"Mmhm. Straight-acting like Rock Hudson." She smiles up at him. "Besides, he wasn't you. Speaking of which, we are still on for the whole getting married thing, right?"

"Hnnk!"

Adrian sits up, rivulets of water pouring down her body as she looks down at him. "I'm serious, Walter. And I know you wouldn't be here if you didn't at least think of it as a possibility."

He looks up at her helplessly. "...It just doesn't seem fair to you."

"Oh, for Christ's sake!" She slaps the surface of the water in irritation, splashing him. "Walter, I have seen your scummy apartment, I know where you work, I know exactly how much education you didn't get, and worse still, I know what kind of crap you eat. And yet, I still want to marry you. And if you want to marry me and say no just to be masochistic, I don't know what I'll do, but it'll be drastic!"

"...Would be beyond honored, Adrienne."

"That's better." She kisses his forehead, nuzzling his hair. "Do you have a preferred date, setting, or denomination?"

"Mm. Haven't given it much thought."

By morning all he knows for sure is that he wants Nite Owl to be there, a perfectly understandable wish. Despite meaning to marry him for over a decade, Adrienne hasn't actually thought much about the ceremony. It had seemed silly, to dream of white satin with such a quixotic engagement and such an austere bridegroom. Especially while taking out a human trafficking ring while she was still too young to drink in the United States. She had wanted him with her then, though. Desperately. She shivers, and rings Nelly's doorbell.

It always seems cruel to discuss wedding plans with people who can't legally marry, but Nelly loves anything involving beauty and place-cards, and has repeatedly told Adrienne to involve her in whatever preparations there are. And tends to be home at two pm, and happens to live a short cab ride and an easy walk from an interminable lunch meeting with a man who probably thanks God each and every morning for his unique and unprecedented ability to tie his own shoes.

She waits just long enough to think that she somehow misread all the signs of Nelly being home, when the door opens. Adrienne blinks, looks lower than she was expecting, and smiles at the tiny girl standing on the threshold, who can't be anyone but Xiaohui. She comes up to Adrienne's nose, and does in fact look like a porcelain doll, with white skin and a smooth, serious little face, a tiny pink bud of a mouth, and huge, ocean-deep black eyes. She also has a serious case of bedhead, with enough glossy black hair to make a glorious mess. She's wearing a blouse of Nelly's that fits her like a dress and seems to be about thirty percent awake, rubbing one eye with a dainty fist as her mouth stretches in a huge yawn.

Adrienne has to smile. "I can always come back later."

She shakes her head. "No, Nelly told me to let you in."


	28. Chapter 28

Adrienne can tell Nelly is embarrassed to be caught post-coital with a girl young enough to be her daughter or indeed, with anyone, but she glows as she fusses around making everyone tea. Already well-preserved with Canadian Air Force exercises and a terrifying cabinet of beauty products, she looks positively girlish today, a pink wrapper fluttering around her, (dyed) blonde hair a collection of loose, gleaming curls. Adrienne chuckles, and Xiaohui grins at her, a flash of sharp white teeth.

"As you can see, we weren't expecting you." Nelly blushes, and Adrienne laughs.

"I can tell. You know, I don't have to interrupt your relationship to blab about my own."

"Sophia's been wanting to meet you."

She has, it turns out. After she's had some tea and blinked the sleepiness out of her eyes, she's suddenly a sleek little predator, hungry questions about gender expression, marketing tactics, and women in the media swarming over Adrienne, who feeds the gaping maws as best she can. Xiaohui is working on a Women's Studies degree, with a concentration on literature of the East Asia diaspora. The fact that Nelly has any idea what any of this means speaks volumes for how besotted she is, and Adrienne smiles. They actually fit together rather well on the loveseat across from her, which has had no lovers on it in far too long.

Xiaohui tucks in against Nelly's side like a shadow, and holds her wrist rather than her hand, gripping in a loose cuff. It's so casually possessive that Adrienne wants to fucking sing. She's a self-possessed girl, but blushes a little when she runs out of questions and remembers her manners. She bounces up and wanders into Nelly's bedroom, ostensibly to get fully dressed and really to leave them alone. "So." Adrienne says quietly. "I actually got around to proposing."

"That's wonderful!" Nelly beams at her. "I take it he said yes, because he's crazy about you and you don't look miserable?"

She nods. "I'm still not sure when or how we're doing it, but we are."

"Does he have any preference?"

"He wants Nite Owl to be his best man."

"Of course."

"And he probably wants to keep it small and out of the tabloids, though I'm not sure how much I can do without actually harming freedom of the press."

Nelly laughs. "And I'll have to pretend I don't know who he is, I suppose."

"Would you, please? He's very paranoid."

"HJ always was." She says softly, looking down into her teacup.

"Speaking of which, how's this working out for you?" Adrienne murmurs. "Is she mean enough?" Nelly blushes badly enough to furnish most of an answer, and Adrienne laughs. "Glad to hear it."

Looking around as though expecting some kind of morality police to burst in, she opens her robe for a moment, flashing one still very nice breast, three brutal purple bite marks, and two of the curious double punctures of temporary piercings. "I didn't actually think I'd like the needles as much as I did." She murmurs, blushing anew and belting her robe again.


	29. Chapter 29

Dan is puttering around the kitchen, making lunch at six pm and pondering work versus tv when a knock at the basement door makes him jump out of his skin. It's Rorschach, of course. He's standing there looking timid and agitated, shifting from foot to foot. Dan restrains the impulse to ask him if he has to pee, and lets him in. "What's up, buddy? Have another fight with Hatshepsut?"

"No." He takes his hat off, awkwardly rotating it by the brim in nervous hands. "...Have been partners for quite some time, Daniel."

"Yeah, actually."

"I... trust you." The words seem to hurt him on the way out, and Dan is pretty sure Rorschach is looking past him, quivering with some undefined emotion. "I would in fact go so far as to say that you are my only friend."

"Thanks, man. I kinda feel the same way."

"And yet, you don't even know my real name."

"I always figured you'd tell me if you were ready."

"Not ready. Not ready at all." He mutters, and pulls off his mask. "Rorschach will not be at the wedding. Be my best man?"

Dan does his best to mute the massive grin spilling across his face like sunshine, with no success. "Of course I will! Congratulations!" He impulsively hugs him and just as quickly lets him go, digging for the bottle of champagne that surely must be there, saved up against a celebration or the next time he's expected to bring something.

"Daniel?"

"We are toasting your engagement. I know you don't like alcohol, but a sip won't kill you."

"...You'd open the whole bottle for a sip?"

"Jesus, she's about to make an honest man of you! What could be more worth it?" He beams and pours two glasses, handing one to Rorschach. "To--"

"Walter and Adrienne." Rorschach croaks, and takes his sip. "Ugh."

Dan just beams. "Walter, huh? What's your last name?"

"Kovacs. Adrienne will retain hers. Career reasons."

"...Waitaminute."

If his dearest friend and brother in arms is shocked to find out that Adrienne Veidt is marrying a little ginger troll who is not the least bit famous, it's nothing on the media. They keep their preparations as quiet as possible, but of course it gets out. These things always get out, and Walter wakes up one morning to his landlady shouting and throwing several someones out. He has never in his life been so grateful to Mrs. Shairp, and skulks to and from work like a hunted animal. A few blurry photos turn up, Walter caught on corners and under streetlamps, always in motion. His wary eyes stare out at the viewer, usually alongside an interview with Adrienne.

The interviews are all the same. Yes, she is engaged. To a very private person. No, he is not rich or famous, and those aren't the only things that matter, especially when one party already has them. No, he does not want her for money or notoriety, he hates notoriety, witness the difficulty of getting a photograph. Yes, she does love him. Very much. No, she will not give out the exact place and time of the wedding. It won't be an 'event' anyway. She is always serene, and always has something witty to say to turn the conversation to battered women's shelters or something else that actually matters. Walter is tremendously proud of her, and saves a few of the choicest, embarrassed even as he clips them.


	30. Chapter 30

Walter doesn't like his job, or anyone there, really, but it has meant self-sufficiency since he was sixteen. It's hard to let it go. Adrienne doesn't try to make him, perhaps knowing that after a week of the staring and the whispers and his boss having to shoo away paparazzi, he quits. Punches out for the last time, goes home, and starts packing. It's dispiriting, the way everything he owns fits into four big, filthy cartons. He doesn't need or want his dishes, and the furniture (such as it is) belongs to Mrs. Shairp, and she's welcome to it.

It doesn't occur to him to call Adrienne until he's already in a cab headed her way, three cartons in the trunk and one beside him, so it is a shattered, shaking mess that gets out, presses all his available cash into the cabbie's hand, and strides up the gleaming front steps. The doormen know him, and help him haul his shameful, vagrant boxes into the elevator. He's been added to the retinal scanner to get into the penthouse, which makes him nervous, but not half as nervous as the thought of losing Adrienne's house key to be purloined and copied.

Adrienne looks up when the door chimes, and beams to see Walter, getting up to hug him. "What a nice surprise." She nuzzles him and then blinks, taking in his agitation and the boxes. "Walter?"

"Have decided--" He croaks, shuffles his feet, "cannot-- resigned today."

"You had to move in sometime, Walter." Adrienne kisses him, and it seems to make him feel a little better. She helps him haul his boxes in, grimacing inwardly at how dirty they are. "And if you must have a day job for your own self-respect, I'm sure we can find you something." She dusts off her hands, goes to wash them. "I was thinking about tea, would you like some?"

"Please." He mutters, hanging up his coat and toeing out of his shoes.

Over sweet, fragrant tea, they discuss vocational training for Walter, where to put his mountain of newsprint, and the possibility of getting a cat.

Their wedding day dawns a week of adjustments later, and Walter does his best not to give in to raw panic. He's just superstitious enough to ride to the church with Daniel instead of Adrienne, nerves wound tight. It's a morning wedding with about four guests that aren't actually in the ceremony, so it's fairly informal. Walter is fidgeting in charcoal pinstripes instead of a tuxedo, and though he hasn't see Adrienne's dress, he's sure it will be appropriate.

Daniel sits serenely beside him in dove grey, and pats Walter's shoulder. "Relax, buddy. You'll be fine."

"Not so certain about that." Walter mutters, trying not to hyperventilate.

"Well, hey." The driver says. "You're at the church on time, anyway."

Walter looks out, steeling himself for a mob of reporters, but there's no one. Just the quiet little church he had picked almost entirely for its lack of glamour. It's Catholic, because strangely enough, Walter has to admit that it's his denomination. It feeds his need for ritual, despite all things he mistrusts about the priesthood.

Adrienne arrives ten minutes later, and does her best not to crow at the lack of onlookers. From the front seat, Hollis grins. "So where are they?"

"Across town." She purrs, smoothing her hair. "Do I look all right?"

"Way beyond all right, honey."

"Excellent."

"Dan has the rings?"

"Of course."

"Wonderful." She takes his arm and heads in, a vision in the palest lavender that isn't white. The dress is simple, with cap sleeves and a sweetheart neckline, and in concession to tradition she has a short veil pinned into her hair. Hollis hands her the bouquet of purple lotuses, and leads her up the aisle. She does not trip over her skirt. Walter does not hyperventilate, faint, or even stammer. His voice is steady as they both promise to love, honor, and obey, and his hands are steady as they slide plain gold bands onto each other's fingers. Adrienne only feels how much he's trembling when she kisses him, and she flashes him a reassuring smile, taking his hand as they head back down the aisle, past Nelly, drafted to serve as matron of honor, Dan, beaming and misty-eyed as someone's mother, Sally, Laurie, Hollis, Xiaohui, and Johnathan, sitting in the back and shaking his head at their madness.

Outside, it's Xiaohui who catches the lotuses, and grins at Nelly in a way that makes her turn bright pink. The reception is dinner at a restaurant Adrienne has part ownership of, in a private room in the back, and Dan makes his toast, to the years he has known Walter and his faith in these two fierce, principled people being exactly right for each other. Walter is deeply touched, but it's still his idea to slip away early, clutching Adrienne's hand. They catch a cab back to her place, and because Walter is so reserved, Adrienne spends the ride pitching an actual honeymoon rather than three days off from dressing up and attempting to get themselves killed, instead of devouring him.

They're both quivering with tension, but they get out of the cab, go inside, and don't even touch hands in the elevator. They close Adrienne's door neatly behind them, and then she can't take it in anymore and slams Walter into the wall, kissing him like she wants to climb inside him. All he can do is cling and whimper, and she approves of his docility as she leads him bedward by his tie. Pretty as the traditional white wedding is, Adrienne is glad their clothes are easier to get out of. She wastes no time stripping Walter, pressing him onto his back and kissing him again to force herself to slow down, shuddering.

"Walter, you have to tell me right now if you're still not ready, okay?" She's shocked at how wrecked her voice sounds, and Walter just stares up at her with eyes that are almost all pupil.

"Ready, Adrienne." He whispers, and she embarrasses herself by groaning deep in her chest without even being touched. That last condition is soon remedied, Walter covering her in kisses and bites, hands all over her. Adrienne melts, every muscle in her body going loose and warm, and rolls onto her back, taking Walter with her so she can wrap around him. He stares down at her with dark eyes, and she wonders for a moment if she's going to spontaneously combust and ruin everything. She settles for biting his chest and listening to him growl, trying to will some strength into her liquid limbs.

She's already so wet that Walter just rocks against her for a moment, trying to catch his breath. At least Adrienne seems to be having a similar problem. She whimpers and bites him again, the feeling rippling out from the point of impact, making his hips buck. "Think perhaps the time has come." He mutters, and Adrienne laughs breathlessly.

"I think perhaps you're right." She can't resist the impulse to sink her teeth into him again, but reaches past to haul a condom out of the nightstand. She doesn't give Walter time to panic about it, just rolling it onto him and kissing him again. He rests his forehead against hers for a moment, on the brink of a completely irrational enormity, and just when she thinks he's not ready after all, he presses into her so slowly, as if he's trying to memorize her. She whimpers and shudders under him, doing her best not to force him to speed up, but soon she has a two-handed grip on his ass, pulling him in with each thrust.

Walter can only hope his instincts will serve, because any plan he might have had is gone. All there is is Adrienne's scent and smooth skin, and he cradles her to his chest as though she'll be snatched away. She whimpers and sighs, legs wrapping around his waist as her hands slide up, nails digging into his upper back. She's speaking a language he doesn't know again, soft words that are probably untrue, her lips brushing his ear as he regains himself enough to reach between them, stroking her clit and kissing her again.

She can tell he's determined to last, and could very nearly kill him for it, wanting him to be the gooey, useless, unstrung one. As it is she does her best not to howl too loudly into his ear when she comes, temporarily blind and deaf, unable to do anything but cling. As she comes back down she realizes she's probably drawing blood, and just as quickly sees that Walter doesn't mind. His face is set in grim determination, and she smiles up at him, kissing him again. "Let it go, dearest. I've got you."

Walter has prepared himself for many humiliations, but is surprised burst into tears as his climax recedes, burying his face in Adrienne's neck and choking a confused apology through what feels like an unstoppable flood of tears. Adrienne just hushes him and holds him, rubbing his back until it passes, kissing the salty tracks from his face.


End file.
